


Drive You Home

by enigma_kar



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), SPECTRE (2015)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 00:50:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5270351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigma_kar/pseuds/enigma_kar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A re-write of the ending of Spectre. In which Bond returns for Q, not just his car, and discovers that Q needs him more than ever. And maybe he needs Q too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drive You Home

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Отвезти тебя домой?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7213204) by [colorful_dreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/colorful_dreams/pseuds/colorful_dreams)



> Because after seeing the movie and reading [this](http://sufferingcity.tumblr.com/post/132054439125/important-things-from-the-first-draft-script-of) part of the script that was deleted, I had to write _something_.
> 
> Spoilers for the movie Spectre, and warnings for angst, hurt/comfort, PTSD, possible OOC-ness, and Bond being a bit less of an ass than he usually is.

** Drive You Home **

Q is alone. His fingers tap easily over his new laptop keyboard. He still hates the fact his old one was destroyed, but it had been… His fingers falter in their typing.  _No._ He isn’t going to think about that day. Never again. Not while he is awake and can control his thoughts.

With a tiny shake of his head, Q resumes typing. He needs to get this report finished, otherwise M really will fire him this time.

It’s late in the evening, or quite possibly, very early in the morning. Time seems to disappear when Q begins something and he likes it that way, especially now. Either way, he is surprised when the large storage doors groan into life. For one panicked moment, Q thinks he’s under attack. His whole body tenses and he reaches out for a weapon that isn’t there. It’s like every nightmare he’s had since that day. His heart is suddenly pounding in his chest. He’s all alone down here. His mind fills with blood red images and he knows he’s breathing hard even though the sound of his panting seems miles away.

And then the doors open fully and 007, James Fucking Bond, steps through the doors with a swagger. Q feels himself deflate, relief flooding through him like a drug. Hoping he doesn’t look too deranged, Q fixes the other man with a confused look.

“007? I thought you had gone.” And Q feels another wave of relief because his voice sounds calm and steady.

“I came back,” James says with ease, not pausing as he continues to walk towards Q’s desk.

Q stands up on legs that are still shaking. “Well if you need something, now’s really not the best time. I suggest you come back later.”

James smirks and Q feels his insides melt: he will do anything for his agent.  _Anything._  And James knows it, the smug bastard. Q had never known how it felt to hate someone you’re in love with until he met James Bond.

“I’m afraid it really can’t wait,” James says, leaning slightly on Q’s desk and looking far too attractive to be legal.

Q sighs. “Well I wouldn’t want to keep you waiting. Nor Madeleine, I’d imagine.” He looks over at James through dark eyelashes but the man’s face is unreadable. It’s sad, almost tragic really, that Q is so willing to help James and his new girl. “Is it the car?”

“Have you finished?”

“Of course,” Q replies, suddenly not wanting to delay the inevitable. Beautiful Bond has come for his beautiful car and he’s going to drive off into a beautiful sunset with a beautiful girl. And they will live a beautiful life together, Q has no doubt. Q knows there is no place for him in James Bond’s new life.

Walking around his desk, Q goes to open the door to the Aston Martin DB5. He will not be bitter. This is what James wants and who can blame him. Certainly not Q. God, with all James has done, he deserves to retire and live the rest of his life in happiness.

“How are you, Q?”

The question startles Q so much that his fingers slips on the keypad lock and the garage door bleeps an ‘ACCESS DENIED’ at him.

“What?”

“I wanted to know how you are,” James says, coming up to stand beside his quartermaster.

“Me?” Q looks up into impossibly blue eyes. “Oh, I’m fine. Perfectly fine, 007. Thank you.” The words leave his mouth in a rush and Q knows James won’t believe him. He begins to turn away, but a hand on his arm gently stops him.

“Look at me,” James says, his voice smooth and commanding and so full of concern it makes Q tremble.

“Yes?” Q manages.

They are standing close now, faces only several inches apart. James opens his mouth, but quickly closes it again as whatever he meant to say deserts him. From this small distance, Q can see the array of bruises and cuts that are still faintly visible on James’ face. Up close, he looks tired and in pain and Q wishes he could kiss it all away. It would only take a second to lean in and press their lips together…

“I just wanted to,” James begins, suddenly sounding uncharacteristically unsure of himself. “I just wanted to know you’re okay. You killed a man.”

To hear those words aloud shocks Q in a way nothing else could have. His legs collapse under him and the grip on his arm is suddenly the only thing holding him upright as he stumbles backwards into the wall. His eyes squeeze shut automatically, as though they can block out the thoughts that he knows will come to him.

James is whispering soothing words as he eases them both onto the ground, but Q can’t make them out. Part of him doesn’t want to hear them, part of him knows he doesn’t deserve this care. He  _killed_ a man. He’s a killer. He’s broken and damaged and a killer. And it hurts him so much he can barely breathe. He can still see the gun shaking in his hand; still hear the thud as the guard had fallen; still smell the metallic blood as it began seeping from the unmoving form. Q pushes the thoughts back down, like he has every other night, and concentrates on his breathing.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

His frantic heart slows its beating and finally Q can open his eyes. He is sitting, leaning up against both the wall and James; James, who is pressed into him, one callused hand holding his. James, who doesn’t need to see this.  _Oh God._ What must James Bond, 007, best damn agent in the world, think of him? Q is just a small, weak man who cannot stop having nightmares and panic attacks. He’s pathetic. Q feels like he’s going to be sick. James only came back for the car. He shouldn’t have to see this.

“I’m so sorry, Q,” James says finally, squeezing Q’s hand ever so gently. Q shakes slightly, but cannot speak. “I shouldn’t have brought you into it. I buggered it up. It’s my fault…”

“No,” Q says. “I brought myself into it, you idiot. As if I could trust you to go off on your own. Please…” It’s a poor echo of his past snide remarks.

“You shouldn’t have even been in that situation. That’s on me,” James says firmly. “When I got to your hotel room and…” his voice breaks off and the hand holding Q’s suddenly grips vice tight.

Q winces, letting out an involuntary cry of pain and James lets go like he’s been electrocuted. He begins to stand, but Q stops him with a pull on his jacket. Feeling pathetic, he says, “Don’t go.”

There must be something in his voice, because James immediately sits back down. “You were my responsibility,” he says softly and Q can practically feel the guilt coming off him now. If he didn’t know the agent better, he would have thought he was close to tears. “In Austria and then here in London. I know you were almost shot… that bullet must have missed your head by millimetres. It would have been my fault. If something ever happened to you…” he stops, looks at Q, and gives a tiny, disbelieving shake of his head. “Something _did_ happen to you.”

“Bond…”

“I should have been there; I could have stopped it. But…Bloody Christ, Q, you were tortured.”

The words cut like ice through Q and he flinches. Damn Bond for being so direct. He had hurt for days after that; parts of him still hurt. But the physical beating was nowhere near as horrifying as his emotional trauma. He’d known Bond would come for him. He’d counted on it, actually: he’d known James would still have his watch. He hadn’t counted on killing…

But the look James gives Q now is suddenly pained; it’s shattered and traumatised by memories. It’s so unlike the agent. And it makes Q’s heart ache.

“I’m okay,” Q says, wanting to reassure him with every fibre of his being.

“You’re not,” James counters, the tiniest hint of anger in his voice. “You just collapsed at the mere mention of-”

“Please don’t,” Q cuts him off. “I just need time. I’ll be fine.”

Silence falls between them again, only this time it’s heavy.

“Every now and then a trigger has to be pulled,” James says softly. “You said that to me once.”

“Our first meeting.”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t think I was referring to myself when I said it,” Q says.

“You saved my life,” James says. “If it means anything to you, I’m glad you  _did_  pull that trigger. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

“It means everything,” Q whispers. He’s thought about this before; used it to reason with himself to justify his spur-of-the-moment actions. It’s helped him, but hearing it from 007 now seems to help him more in a way Q couldn’t have imagined. This man sitting beside him is alive because of what Q did; this being of flesh and blood with a strongly beating heart is still here because of Q.

“It will help to talk,” says James. “To a professional, to M, to anyone. To me.”

Q turns to him and raises an eyebrow. “I thought you were gone. I thought… oh! She’s probably waiting for you and the car.” Q scrambles up, quickly pressing the keypad code to open the door to the DB5. Inside, his heart is deflating. “I’m sorry 007, I-”

“Madeleine is already home,” James says simply as he stands. “She wanted out of this life.”

“She what?”

“I took her home after that night on the bridge. She should be back in Austria now, starting anew.”

Q’s forehead is furrowed in confusion. “But I thought she and you were…” he can’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

“Not anymore,” James says.

“But-”

“I was on a mission. She fell in love with that version of me, with the drama and the passion. They always do. But she didn’t want anything beyond that. She wouldn’t have wanted anything else.”

The door loudly clicks into the fully opened position, revealing the DB5. But Q doesn’t look at it; neither does James. They are both too concentrated on each other.

“I see,” Q says carefully. “Do you still need your car then?”

“That all depends,” James say, leaning forward into Q’s space, his voice returning to suave confidence.

“On what exactly?”

“You.”

“I don’t understand,” Q begins, but before he can finish, James is closing the scant distance between them and pressing the faintest of kisses upon his lips. James pulls back, giving Q chance to back away and escape if he wishes. But Q doesn’t move. He knows his eyes are wide as he gazes at James, sure he dreamed whatever just happened. But James is staring back at him with a heated, desperate look and Q knows he didn’t imagine it.

“Do you understand now,” James says.

“I didn’t think that… you… I didn’t realise… you were…” the words come fragmented out of Q’s mouth.

“Clichéd as it sounds, it took nearly losing you to realise what you meant to me,” James says. “I don’t want to risk losing you again.”

“James,” Q breathes, and the double-oh agent moans softly at the use of his proper name. When they kiss again, Q grips the lapels of James’ jacket so tightly he thinks he might tear the fabric. Because this is all he’s ever wanted for so many years and he never thought he’d have the chance. He never thought James Bond would even  _look_  at him. They’re both exhausted and more than a little bit broken, but it doesn’t matter so much anymore. James’ hands are fisted gently in Q’s hair and the feeling sends jolts of excitement cascading through him.

“Drive you home?” James offers when they pause, because they had to breathe again at some point.

“Stay the night?” Q counter-offers.

“Of course,” James says, unable to keep the smile off his face.

Q smiles back, feeling a weight lift off him and says: “You’re not allergic to cats are you?”


End file.
